


Smoothing

by charcoalscenes



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Banter, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17890148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: “What’s so great about Astral, anyway?”“Hah! I can make a list and won’t be done in a day with all the reasons why Astral would one-up you any time!”(96Yu Post-series)





	Smoothing

“What are you still mad at me for?” Black Mist asks as a joke, lounging about Yuma’s home as though they were invited – something that Yuma has repeatedly reminded Black Mist is not the case.

Though he must know it’s rhetorical, Yuma huffs, breath heavy and cheeks briefly ballooning right before he glares. “Are you kidding me?” Of course Black Mist is kidding him; they wonder if the humor flies over his head. “Maybe it’s because of the times you fought me? Tried to _kill_ Astral? Maybe it’s because you tried to destroy two planets at the same time like a dumbass, too.”

That last one stings, but not so much that Black Mist will let their resentment overshadow the current desire to get under Yuma’s skin. “But,” they counter, feeling themself unwittingly smile, “I _didn’t_ , in the end. Doesn’t that mean you’re mad at me for nothing? Holding grudges much?”

Yuma slams down the knife beside the vegetables he’s been slicing, not comprehending that just this reaction is a bit of a victory for Black Mist. “I’ll hold a grudge if I want to! Especially to you!” Abruptly, he raises the knife again, pointing it accusingly at Black Mist. “Can you scram already? I’ll call Astral here if you stay!”

“Always running back to Astral.” Black Mist mutters, their eyes rolling, but otherwise not feeling too threatened despite the fact that the threat indeed exists. Since their resurrection from the Numeron Code’s power, Astral really has been keeping tabs on them, and Yuma ratting them out to the emissary is the last thing Black Mist needs.

They have little reason to actually worry about Astral coming, though, given how well they’ve learned to play with Yuma from their time spent with him since returning – how to tease him and goad him into reacting in just the particular ways they like.

“What’s so great about Astral, anyway?” Is the next question they choose to pose for now, thinking it may be enough to buy them some time before they’d absolutely _have_ to leave. “Without the Numeron Code, they were – what? A ghost following you around? Without the power they hold now, what did they have that I don’t?”

“Hah!” Yuma gives an obviously mirthless laugh. “Ha ha! I can make a list and I won’t be done in a day with all the reasons why Astral would one-up you any time!”

“Enlighten me.” Again, something in Black Mist unsettles at Yuma’s words. It’s peculiar, the way that – rather than getting more and more accustomed to Yuma’s harshness as time goes on (a sentiment that is mutual between the both of them, by all means) – it seems to feel like the opposite; Black Mist becoming increasingly irritated at his plethora of denouncements when they interact.

They shrug it off, though, and drawl an additional, “And watch where you point that thing, honey. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Well, for one,” Yuma gripes, addressing Black Mist’s former inquiry and ignoring their last comment, “unlike you, Astral has a–” He stumbles, stuttering. “A moral– A moral m-map! …A _morality map!_ ”

Black Mist pauses, before aiding. “Are you trying to say _moral compass_?”

“It doesn’t matter what it’s called! It’s something that Astral has that you don’t!” By now, it seems that his previous task of preparing dinner before his family comes home is abandoned and forgotten in favor of once again attempting to verbally rip Black Mist a new one. “Do you really not regret anything you did before? Don’t you realise how much of an asshole you are? I bet you don’t even care!”

“I don’t.” Black Mist’s tone is light, purposefully trivial.

“Why even _bring it up_? Just to mess with me?” Yuma voices as though it’s a genuine question, but Black Mist doesn’t deign something so obvious with an answer. “I don’t even know why you stick around. You can go anywhere now; isn’t that what you wanted before? Freedom, or something? Go to Astral World or something! My family is going to be back any minute!”

“But I truly did look forward to finally meeting them.” As soon as the words leave their mouth, Black Mist suddenly isn’t sure how far they’re taking the hobby of playing with him today – if they would _actually_ stay and wait for his family to arrive, and force him to introduce them somehow. It’s something they’ve been curious about, after all: the home of Earth’s emissary, his family, his _infamous_ parents, and Kazuma in particular. “You’re being awfully rude.” They add. “Aren’t I a comrade, who it would only be polite of you to invite for dinner?”

Again, Yuma stammers, at a loss for words towards Black Mist’s audacity. “You– C-comrade, _you?_ If anyone, _anyone_ , I know isn’t a friend, it’s you! You’re not staying, you’re not having dinner, you won’t _be here_ when they come. You’re _leaving_. For all– all intentions and a, a sense of purpose, I could tell my family all about you, the truth about you, and all five of us– _six_ of us, with Obomi – can kick you out!”

“… _All intents and purposes?_ ”

“What are you talking about? That’s what I just said! Don’t tell me what I just said, that’s what I said!” He continues to rave now, stalking around the kitchen counter to cross the space between the two of them, shoulders squared and feet stomping. “Are you not leaving yet? I’ll call Astral! I will! I definitely won’t go through any effort to make up an excuse for you to stay! I’ll tell my family what you are. I won’t make up any stories for you!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Astral never mentioned making a clone.” Kazuma murmurs, confused but not skeptical, for which Yuma is grateful. “Astral never told me this. Why would…?”

“I don’t know why that guy does half the stuff I hear about.” Yuma laughs, waving the line of inquiry off and trying to look as least nervous as possible – a difficult feat with Black Mist waiting for him upstairs in his room and with Akari frowning at him now beside his father. “Astral likes experimenting a lot. I never got around to asking _why_ Black Mist was made; I just kinda rolled with it.”

“Why have we never met Black Mist until now?” Akari asks, astute. Her voice cuts at Yuma’s confidence, and again, he laughs helplessly. “Are there more people from other planets we haven’t met yet?”

“Yeah, duh, of course!” Yuma tries. “Like, loads of people! Even I hadn’t met everyone! It’s not like I vacationed to Astral World for a whole year; I was just there for, like, a day.”

“Isn’t making a clone kind of an important detail?” Akari keeps going. The longer she speaks, the more Yuma can feel himself closer to perspiring. “Is making a copy of yourself just an everyday thing for people like Astral? Was it just a spur of the moment thing, or a mood?”

“Listen,” Yuma’s patience finally snaps, “if you wanna write a story on it, why don’t you ask Astral yourself?”

“Astral?” Akari blinks, her arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t I just ask Black Mist?”

Yuma swears he’s about to cave under the scrutiny of Akari’s borderline interrogation when Black Mist calls rather obnoxiously from the doorway of his room. “Yuma!” They all but outright bark. “I’m bored!”

“What the hell?” Akari curses. Kazuma reacts as well, finally frowning the way she is. “Yuma, is this guy _okay?_ ”

“They’re a little crazy.” Yuma drastically understates. He grasps onto the excuse that Black Mist threw his way to leave his family for now, though, and turns to make his way upstairs. “I’ll just be in my room, hanging out. We’ll have dinner together by ourselves too! Hope that’s okay!”

He doesn’t ask, not wanting this request to be refused. It doesn’t matter if, for some reason or another, that Black Mist has been pretty civil lately compared to what they were like _before_. It’s still Black Mist, and they’re still one of the last people he wants to deal with at a dinner table with his family.

Despite the reservations she openly displays, Akari seems to get the message, but allows Yuma the reprieve in her parents’ steed only after she yells after him, “Call us if you need anything. _Okay?_ ”

“Yeah!” He dashes to his room without another word. When he gets there, he finds Black Mist laying on his bed as though it’s theirs, languid and without a care for the excuses and inner-conflicts he’s just been through for their sake.

“Hey.” Black Mist greets again, and then plops down on _his_ pillows. “I don’t understand why you insist on sleeping in that stupid hammock. I loved my bed when I last had a human host.” They sigh, as though missing the said sensation. “But mine was so much more comfortable than this.”

“You got me to lie to my parents.” Yuma snaps, standing over them – to no effect. “Happy? Is that what you wanted? Can you leave now?”

“Is this how you speak to all of your houseguests?” Black Mist rises, springing back up to stand beside him. “Then again, Astral’s memories _did_ show that you were rather unwilling in the beginning. _Go away, go away._ ” The mock, their impression of Yuma’s old complaints made absently as they busy themself foremost with looking about. “Do those stairs lead to the attic?”

Of course, they don’t wait for Yuma to respond, striding to the attic’s entrance of their own accord.

“Hey, don’t go in there!” Yuma objects, reaching and just missing a hold on Black Mist’s retreating back and nearly falling forward from the effort. Black Mist is already past the attic’s entrance when Yuma is steady enough to follow them. “I said don’t go in there!”

“Please.” Black Mist scoffs, quickly finding the lightswitch and illuminating the space. “You’ve nothing to hide.”

Though, indeed, Yuma may have very little secrets in this room, there are numerous objects of his littering the space, many antique-looking while others are more modern toys.

“It’s not about hiding anything.” Yuma argues, grating. “It’s about privacy! Privacy! This is my personal space!”

 _There it is._ Black Mist leaves Yuma’s cries and walks over to the hammock in question, unmoving before Black Mist glides onto it, draping themself over the large net in one graceful leap.

Yuma growls, stomping over and clawing at the net Black Mist is currently testing. “This is mine!”

“This is horrible.” They mutter, though they successfully ignore and overpower Yuma’s attempts to knock them off or shake them into getting up from it. “You know,” they continue conversing, “with the amount of times I’ve seen this room in yours and Astral’s memories, I have to say, I always did wish to see it in person. Now that I have, it’s grossly underwhelming.”

“Then _get out!_ ” Yuma keens, grabbing at both sides of the hammock now, needing to reach over Black Mist to get such a grip. “If all this is so disappointing to you, then–”

He stumbles – not with his words this time, but once more with his footing. Black Mist nudges him just a bit to make it so, and before Yuma knows it, he hits his chest on Black Mist’s, his feet completely off the floor and dangling as Black Mist’s arms lock around his waist, securing him on top of them and letting them both sway.

It’s rare for Black Mist to see any look on Yuma’s face when he’s facing them that isn’t clear anger or distrust. For the first time today, the tension that Yuma’s held in their presence dissipates, giving way only to surprise, and Black Mist can’t help but appreciate the way Yuma’s eyes flutter, wide and unassuming, his lips loosely open in his startlement.

For a moment longer, Black Mist doesn’t let go, and they know it just adds to Yuma’s shock as well. He must have expected them to release the hold or at least have let him fall entirely. It would have been a funny sight, and in all honesty, Black Mist would have expected such typical behavior from themself as well.

Then, the distrust comes back, and Yuma makes to push himself off. Black Mist holds onto him fast. “What’s all the fuss about?” They revert back to teasing him.

“Let _go_.” Yuma succeeds in pushing himself off, then, standing beside Black Mist’s continual swaying. “You’re such a dick. I said you aren’t allowed in my room.”

“I’m not allowed a lot of things, pet.” Black Mist hums; again, smiling. That action, too, has started to feel different after some time – more loose, more easy. “But here I still am, for all _sense of purposes and intentions_.”

“You’re making fun of me.” Yuma accuses, glaring, but with his usual antagonism noticeably softening.

“It’s cute how you think stating the obvious is going to guilt me to stop.” In fact, it adds to the compulsion that Black Mist has now to stay. They realize that they would be content to stay here all night in this hammock (maybe they didn’t give this piece of would-be furniture enough credit), swinging from side to side and waiting until it got dark and the whole of humanity nearby would be asleep and silent, the human beside them included.

“What else do you do for fun?” They help themself to finding out, their feet swinging as they dismount the flimsy thing and peer around again. It’s hard to focus on one thing in particular with so many objects strewn about, but one manages to pique their curiosity over the rest. “What year is this from?” They go to Yuma’s small television, on the floor rather than on any sort of stand, just like in his and Astral’s memories.

“Oh, it’s the year of none of your business.” Yuma grumbles, but doesn’t try to physically stop Black Mist’s meandering anymore, instead picking on his hammock with the same ridiculous mannerisms as re-fluffing a used pillow.

“Your comebacks are exceptional as they ever were.” Black Mist rests in front of the box, not waiting for Yuma to come over, and tinkers with the dials. “The picture quality must suck on this one.”

“Well, what do you have in whatever place you stay in when you’re in town? Some high-tech flatscreen?”

Yuma doesn’t actually sound interested when he asks, though, and so Black Mist ignores him, switching on the television and scooting back. The first channel that flashes on is a popular network for cartoons.

“Is this what you and Astral do all day?” Black Mist leans back. Yuma steps beside him, not making himself comfortable beside them yet. The current program isn’t Esper Robin, the show that Astral had briefly boasted as their favorite, but another somewhat famous animation loosely based on the stories behind fairy-type duel monsters. “You know, I bet that, in another life, you and Astral would’ve been just a couple of couch potatoes.”

“Yeah.” Yuma snorts. “Sure.” He inevitably sits down on the cushions near Black Mist anyway, crossing his legs. “At least it’s not as bad as, in another life, being a serial killer or something, like I bet you’d be.”

Black Mist grins, flattered. “And you’d be my favorite victim.”

“ _Ugh._ ” Yuma bolts back up twice as quickly as when he sat down. “ _Ugh._ I’m calling Astral.”

“And tell them what? That I’m watching T.V.? Relax.” As though to emphasize, they take up the space Yuma leaves unoccupied, resting on their side with their head propped up by one hand, their legs stretching comfortably.

Yuma scowls, but otherwise pauses, silent. Sometimes, Black Mist wonders why they – and why Astral – were drawn to him in the first place. The more time they’re near him now, though, Black Mist finds that they have to wonder less and less, allowing themself to instead just enjoy his company all the more.


End file.
